


Paint

by chele20035



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Prompts in Panem, modern au drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chele20035/pseuds/chele20035
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just have to get out of the house...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! 
> 
> As some of you may know, sometimes I will write drabbles to experiment with writing styles... this is my first, well anything in first person point of view... I guess call this practice before Kink? Anyways, this is included in the last round of prompts in panem over on tumblr... I hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> Thank you to norbertsmom and Nicole for looking over it!!

It’s Tuesday night. I shouldn’t be here, but I am. I shake myself and turn off my old Jeep. The parking lot looks deserted, so I breathe a sigh of relief. I lock the door behind me and walk to the door. The familiar smells of Uncle Haymitch’s bar greet me like the old friend it is. No one has smoked in here in years, but the odor of stale cigarettes lingers in the yellowing walls. 

I run my hand along the familiar oak bar, the same one I spent my college years, and some high school ones too, wiping down. Haymitch always said that he considered it a family business and that is how Prim and I were able to work in here when we were bright-eyed teenagers. 

The old man who has watched over us for years merely grunts at me, his eyes locked on me as I make my way to join him behind the bar. I lay down my keys beside the computer that I had picked out for him and grab the whiskey bottle off of the shelf. I won’t meet his eyes, even though I know he is trying to find mine. Besides, he already knows that if I’m here, reaching for his bottle of Jim Beam, I don’t want to talk about what is bothering me. At least not until I’ve had several shots. 

The first shot burns all the way down. I wish that the one I am mad at tonight would warm me as the second shot just did. My tears come and since it’s only me and the old man, I don’t mind if he sees them, which he does. Still silent, he holds out his arms for me, and I slip into them gratefully. 

After Dad died and Mother wasted away, it was Uncle Haymitch who was there. I step away from him and he still watches me. He reaches for the straw that forever found its way to his mouth after the cancer scare years ago made him lay down his last cigarette. I finally meet his eyes, and instead of the pity I was afraid of seeing, I see pride. 

He opens his mouth and says, “The boy--” 

The bell over the door interrupts him and the one who I’m longing for appears in the doorway. More of my damn tears try to escape, and if I look closely enough, I think he has some tears too. Haymitch pats my back and I watch him walk out from behind the bar. He walks away from us heading to his office down the hallway, but he doesn’t close the door behind him. 

I don’t want to look at him, so I pour myself another shot so I can chase the warmth that is trying to leave me. He comes and sits in front of me, still not saying a word. I hear him release a shuttering sigh and my eyes finally find his across the span of weathered oak. The pain in his Carolina blue eyes makes my tears begin anew and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest. His eyes are rimmed in red, just like I know mine are. His curls that desperately need a trim are sticking straight up from where I know he has been tugging on the ends like he does when he is anxious. 

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but I pour another shot and slide it in front of him. He watches my every move and it hits me, stealing all of the air out of the room as it does. This man in front of me, who I hope to God is still mine, is one of only two people who watch me the way he does. I open my mouth so I can say the words that need to be said, but he stands so quickly that he knocks the stool over. Before I even fight to take another breath, he is there, holding me as I start to sob. 

I cling to him like a drowning woman, and perhaps I am. He is my life, my heart. My arms find their home around his neck, where I cling to him and he clings back. After we both calm down, he whispers, “You can paint it any color you want.”

I chuckle through what is left of my tears and lean back so I can see his perfect blue eyes that will always see every part of me. I shake my head and murmur back, “You can pick out colors better than I can. I like your choices. I really do.” 

He looks at me, my half apology making us both feel better. He then kisses me on the nose before he claims my lips. Our whiskey-flavored kiss makes us both giggle, and we separate as Haymitch comes out of his office with a growl, “You two need to go home now and quit making out in my bar!”


End file.
